


Typical

by missvalerietanner



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 08:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16594811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missvalerietanner/pseuds/missvalerietanner
Summary: Post-RE5 Jill stays with Chris while she recovers. While Chris is away in China (RE6), Jill lingers around his empty apartment all day and finds comfort in the familiar and all-too-typical reminders of Chris--the only thing keeping her mental demons at bay.[ written August 3, 2015 ]





	1. Chapter 1

The TV whispered melodramatic voices of antique sitcoms, and the swaying laughter of the long gone audience drifted over her as she shifted in her sleep on the couch. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the television’s noise and fall deeper within the darkness. 

Shifting her body on the sofa, she curled her legs closer against her stomach and let her arm go limp over the edge. Her slender, pale fingers reached toward the floor, toward the scattering of discarded water glasses and the occasional half-empty beer bottle. She turned her face into the pillow, hoping its plush fabric would suffocate her eyes and keep the TV’s glow at bay. But as strands of her thin blonde hair fell over her eyes, she relented: trying to sleep was pointless.

Sighing, she sat up on the couch and pushed her bangs away from her weary eyes. She stared around the room in disgust, knowing she should stand and clean–especially considering this wasn’t her place yet she had single-handedly turned it into a war zone where garbage and strange stains were fighting, and winning, against the once pristine apartment.

Groaning, she rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes and rose to her feet. Dressed in a loose gray tee that was about four sizes too big and a pair of men’s blue and black checkered boxers, she shuffled across the floor, picking up every stained glass and bottle on her way to the kitchen.

She pulled open the center cabinet door, just below the sink, and dragged the trash bin out from within. She threw the bottles in the white, open mouth of the trash bag and set the glasses in the sink, promising herself she’d clean them later. 

Returning to the living room, she cleared the coffee table of litter and tried her best to rearrange the magazines and knickknacks into such a way as to distract from the other clutter still lingering on the floor. As she stacked the pile of magazines, she let her hand trail down the cover of the catalog that sat atop them all: Guns & Ammo. She smiled as her fingertips danced across the address label at the bottom and the bold, black-inked name staring back at her: _Chris Redfield_.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Typical.”

She laughed and snatched up the remote before falling back onto the couch. Curling her legs underneath her, she flipped through the stations, searching for anything that might help ease her into a comfortable night’s sleep.

It’s been four years since Africa, four years since she was found. The nightmares don’t come as often anymore, but just when she thinks they’re gone, they always find a way back in, disrupting her dreams, tearing away her composure, and forcing her to sit up nights with some blaring noise, usually the TV, blasting through her ears to block out all the demons knocking around in her mind.

She feared she’d never find peace; she feared she’d die by the one thing she desired more than anything: sleep. But Chris opened his home to her, offered her free range of the guest room, which he usually kept empty in case Claire wanted to visit. And knowing he was sleeping just across the hall–it helped. At first, it had been rough on him too–how many times had he been awoken in the pitch black by her scratchy screams? How many times had he jumped out of bed, terrified of what he would find when he ran across the hall and into her room? How many times had he pulled her from the darkness by pulling her into his arms and swearing everything would be alright?

How many times had he _saved_ her? 

But when he left for China, all of that changed. He promised he’d be back, but she’d heard that before from her father, from Richard, from Carlos, from Barry. She didn’t want empty promises from him too. 

She wasn’t concerned, though. She knew he was strong, despite the fear eating away at her heart. She knew he’d be safe, despite the worry crawling through her veins and paralyzing her limbs. What she couldn’t shake was the overbearing humiliation that for the first time in all their years together, she was worthless.

_“You need time to heal,” he said. “Don’t force this. Return to work when you’re ready, and until you are, I’m right here.“_

But he left. His team needed him, and she wasn’t hurt that he left. If anything, she forced him to go.

_“Are you sure you’ll be O.K. while I’m gone?”_

_“Yes, Chris,” she forced a laugh to stifle his anxiety as well as her own. “Being on my own might do me some good. Besides,” she held up her phone. “You’re always one call away.”_

And he left, assured that she’d be alright. But the truth was, she was drowning, losing a battle she thought she’d already won. He called at least once a week and texted her when he could. And when he failed to check in, the office kept her in the loop–well, after she called and pestered them long enough. Her superiors wanted to keep her isolated, keep her far away from anything that might trigger a relapse. But what they didn’t understand was that she needed to be involved. She needed to taste that world to feel normal, to feel in control. 

And without it, she didn’t know herself. For fifteen long years, she had been a fighter, and after only a few years away from the job, she was lost. The nightmares were returning, and the thick black of nighttime was starting to reach for her again. And if she dared to sleep, eventually, she could find _him_ –Wesker–waiting just beneath the surface.

She wanted to tell herself she didn’t fear him. He was, after all, only one man, but he had contorted himself into a horrific boogeyman–a sinister illusion and absurd idea hiding the simplicity of a cowardly man. But when she saw his face, remembered the touch of his cold, lifeless hands lifting her off the beach–she was frightened.

Images of Lucille Ball danced across the TV’s screen, and she set the remote aside. Leaning back into the couch, she stretched and yawned, hoping to force her body into sleep mode. She pressed her head into the folds at the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

 _Maybe_ , she thought. _Maybe he won’t show up this time._


	2. Small Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jill finds peace in her dreams, a rarity since Africa, but she's awoken by Chris' return from China and all the news he has to share.
> 
> [ written Jan 12, 2016 ]

A light rustling brought her out of her slumber. Blinking several times to clear the sleep from her eyes, she sat up on the couch and stared hard at the electronic clock nestled among shadows before the TV. The red lights glared back at her with blinding power: 3:14. Well, at least she had managed to get in a few hours of rest, nightmare-free. That was the best she could hope for these days.

Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head, and only then did she recall the rustling noise that had brought her back to reality. She remembered it and its piercing screech because she heard it again. The sound echoed from the front door of his apartment. 

Her nerves were fried–had been since leaving Africa. Fear pushed her to lean down on the couch, crouching just out of sight. The noise continued, pausing in between her own shallow breaths. Though she tried to calm herself, she couldn’t stop her fingers from curling into fists against the loose fabric on the back of the couch. And she was helpless to stop her heart from beating like war drums inside her ribs below the mangled scar that served as a constant reminder of all she’s suffered through. 

She couldn’t stop herself from being afraid of every single noise she heard because of what that bastard took from her. He took her peace of mind. He stole her strength of mind, and he shattered whatever pieces remained unbroken.

The noise halted, but the door opened in its stead. She sucked in a low, shaky breath and held it tight in her throat, so pathetically afraid to let it go. The door slid open little-by-little until the entire doorway was clear, and within its frame stood Chris. 

Her fears dissolved in an instant, replaced by the smallest but most genuine grin her frail heart could muster. She stood from the couch and walked toward him.

In the dim glow of early morning, the light gathered around Chris almost like a halo, but within its haze, every scratch and scar and splattering of blood that consumed his uniform was illuminated. When he saw her before him, he smiled, causing a fresh scratch on his cheek to crinkle and crack the dried blood remaining on his skin.

She danced toward him on legs lighter than air and reached out to him. One of her hands fell against the inside of his elbow where her fingers curled around the cooled bare skin of his exposed arm. Her other hand reached toward the fresh cut on his cheek, and her fingers wiped across its surface with a painful groan. 

“What happened?” she asked in a breathy sigh.

He grabbed her hand and gave it a soft squeeze as his smile widened. “Oh, you know, just making new friends.” He pulled her hand away from his cheek and looked straight in her pale blue eyes. “I missed you. It still doesn’t feel right–not having you by my side out there.”

“You had Piers,” she offered the reminder, knowing he, though young, had served as a great friend and partner to Chris in her absence. “How’s he doing?”

Chris’ lips parted in a breath, and he stared at the floor. She felt a quake trembled against the rim of her fragile heart. She knew what that look meant. She had seen it far too many times before. 

“Oh, she frowned, searching for something to say to soothe his pain and not add to the guilt she knew he carried for any of his fallen comrades. “He was a fine soldier, and I’m sure he gave his life honorably.”

Chris shook his head. “He died to save me.” His lips cracked and a self-pitting laugh leaked out. “That seems to be a returning motif.“

“Hey,” she whispered and tapped the bottom of his chin with her fist. “Didn’t we promise ourselves in Raccoon City that any hits we took were for the greater good? We’ve lost friends and allies, but we’ve also stopped so much. We have saved so many.”

“I know. It just–it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Leaving him behind felt like I was watching you go through that window again.” He lifted his shoulders into a shrug. “I’m not strong enough to keep going.”

“You look at me, Chris Redfield,” she snapped, her eyes wide and alive with anger. “We gave up our lives, our anonymity. We buried our friends. We’ve seen the darkest parts of this worlds and silenced the most violent minds. And we did not do that just to quit.” She pressed the palm of her hand against the scar on her chest, shivering as she did so. She never got used to the sight of it, let alone the raw, gnarled, and rough feel of its touch. “We all have scars, Chris, and with time, they’ll fade. But our actions, our victories: they’ll outlive us all.”

He sagged forward, falling against her and folding his arms around her back. He pulled her against him with such a sudden force he nearly lifted her feet from the ground. She welcomed his embrace and wound her arms around him, clinging to his solid frame in comfort. Only then did she realize how much she had missed him–truly missed him, his touch, his smell, his presence. He was a wall of security around her, sheltering her from the abuse of the world, and in return, she offered up every ounce of strength to keep his walls standing tall and strong. 

His hands spread out across her back, absorbing the warmth he found there. He rested his head against her shoulder and whispered: “I’m just so tired.”

She gripped fistfuls of his shirt to hold tight to him. “I know,” she sighed with a tear in her eye. “I know you are.” With reluctance in her heart, she forced herself to step back and wipe the tear from her cheek with a subtle brush of her hand. “Enough of that sad stuff. Get in here and tell me all the good news.”

He let a smile reclaim his face as he stepped inside and moved toward the couch, so thankful to fall into the grip of its plush cushions and feel true comfort for the first time in too long. Jill closed the door and joined him.

“I saw Sherry,” he said aloud in a rush.

“Birkin’s daughter?” Jill mused. “How is she wrapped up in all this?”

“Her job dragged her down, but she’s tough. She’s a good kid, and she’s come a long way.” He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “And you won’t guess who she was working with?”

She shook her head, not even wanting to venture a guess.

“Turns out our good ol’ Captain was fuckin’ some woman before he started fuckin’ with us.”

Jill’s eyes narrowed. “Wesker had a kid?”

“A son, yeah.”

A hint of fear leaked into her voice. “Is he… like Wesker?”

Chris matched her worried gaze. “No. And believe me–” he gestured to the fresh scar on his face. “I gave him every reason to be.”

“Wow,” she sighed, scooting closer to him to rest her head on his shoulder. “So much has changed.”

“Not enough,” he groaned and slid his arm around her side to drag her closer.

“I don’t know. Two men who were our greatest enemies had kids who became allies. That seems like a pretty good turn of events to me.”

He snorted. “When did you get to be so positive?”

She smiled. “Someone has to keep the spirits up around here.” 

He leaned his head against the top of hers and closed his eyes, so ready for sleep. “You’re not too bad at it either.”

“Gee, thanks,” she mocked him with a laugh as her eyes settled onto the early morning infomercials playing mindlessly before them on the TV. She was about to say something else, to mention the silly premise of the items being marketed, but the sound of his deep, deserved snoring hit her ears. She just smiled and settled against him, closing her own eyes so they could sleep together in complete peace.


End file.
